Lifeline
by KuriQuinn
Summary: The remorse swirls up inside him again, threatening to drown him, but Sakura doesn't leave his side. She murmurs softly in his ear, mostly nonsensical repetitions of "It's okay. You'll be okay." [Part of the Legacy of Fire series]


**Disclaimer:** This story utilises characters, situations and premises that are copyright Masashi Kishimoto, Shueisha, Shonen Jump and Viz media. No infringement on their respective copyrights pertaining to episodes, novelisations, comics or short stories is intended by KuriQuinn in any way, shape or form. This fan-oriented story is written solely for the author's own amusement and the entertainment of the readers. It is not for profit. Any resemblance to real organizations, institutions, products or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

 **All plot and Original Characters except for those introduced in the canon books, manga, video games, novelizations and anime, are the sole creation of KuriQuinn. (© KuriQuinn 2016- )**

 **Rating:** T

 **Warning:** _Spoiler_ sfor pretty much everything up to Chapter 699. _Trigger Warnings:_ Possible triggering subject matter. In-depth description and discussion of on-going mental health issues (panic attacks, sleep paralysis, mentions of PTSD)

 **Canon-Compliance:** As close to canon as fanfiction can possibly be. With a few personal additions :P Takes place during the Blank Period.

 **Beta Reader:** Sakura's Unicorn

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There are nights when he doesn't sleep.

Sometimes, it's because he's knee-deep in some spot of trouble or another, saving people in distress, or hunting down obscure leads that amount to little more than whispers. Mostly, though, it's because his dreams are too dark, too real for him to surrender to sleep.

Before, he dealt with the situation simply: travel until he passed out, too exhausted to dream.

It's not so easy this time around.

Sasuke turns on his side, staring through the shadows of their small cabin. Splinters of moonlight illuminate Sakura's slumbering form.

No, that's not right.

His _wife's_ slumbering form.

It's so strange to think of her like that, and yet, so natural. It's only been a few days since they married, and he still wonders sometimes if he dreamed it all. But here she is, curled on her side, back to him, sleeping peacefully.

Her long hair is braided down her back, the tail of it hanging across the _uchiwa_ symbol on the back of her nightshirt. Sasuke reaches out to trace it with his fingers, and a soft smile forms on his lips.

It's an unexpected feeling of pride to see her wear it.

She surprised him with that. He had been away for the day and upon returning to her side, discovered that every garment she owned had been emblazoned with his family's crest. Now, whenever he finds himself lagging behind her (a lot more often these days), he gets to see that symbol flashing at him from beneath pink locks.

To him, it's a beacon of the future, even as it remains a constant reminder of the past.

Continuing to trace the lines of the fan-shaped figure, Sasuke's mind flashes back to another time when he stared so intently at Sakura's back.

He sees his hand glowing with blue light, hears the shrieking chirp of birds. He can feel the heat of his chakra becoming stronger as he shoves it toward the unsuspecting girl in front of him –

Sasuke sits up quickly, the movement jarring his thoughts back to the present. He stares numbly down at where his left arm used to be, still able to sense the heat there. The tingling sensation creeps up through that missing limb.

These are the only times he truly feels that phantom limb pain, and the loss of control bothers him, makes him want to fix it right away, but there's no way to do that. Even though the air is empty, he imagines his chakra vibrating with the ghostly crackle of a nascent _Chidori_.

Sasuke's heart pounds erratically, pain radiating outward across his chest, like giant fingers of flame reaching and grasping across bone and muscle. His stomach pulls tight and he feels bile rising in his throat, brought on by the incessant, desperate need to _get out._

With less grace than he's capable of, he swings around until his feet are planted firmly on the ground, giving him at least a physical hold on the waking world. Scrubbing his hand down his face—it comes away drenched in sweat—he tries to erase the memory from his mind.

He's revisited that day in dreams enough times that he knows how to fight it back; it's just a matter of calming himself. Yet, even as he tries to regulate his breathing, it still feels like something is smothering him.

Flashes of memories gnaw at him, and they don't just end with Sakura. Being possessed of a Sharingan, he sees it all over again in crushing detail.

He relives the moment he shoved his arm through Naruto's shoulder and the slow seep of his best friend's blood as it drenched their bodies, the beat of a heart Sasuke narrowly missed crushing. He remembers leaning over Naruto, weighing the pros and cons of killing him, the cold, hard logic sounding out in his head—

 _Stop it!_

As he tries to stand, it feels as if he's experiencing the action from far away, from one end of a long tunnel. He feels detached from his body in some places, while in others, he is all too present.

The crack of bones echoes in his ears, the metallic, sickly-sweet smell of blood filling his nose.

 _Where is it coming from?_

Sasuke gasps for air, unable to pull in even the smallest breath.

Gasping like Itachi right before he died—before Sasuke killed him. Maybe not himself with his own two hands around the man's throat as he imagined so often as a child, but his rage spurred him on. He exhausted his sick and dying brother, played into his hands without even asking the questions because he was so damned _stupid_!

He's actually choking now, and the sound is sickeningly familiar. He's heard the wet, rattling wheeze from the countless people he's killed. He might've refused to take lives needlessly during his early years under Orochimaru, but he broke that rule so, _so_ easily.

There's blood on his hands now—those poor damned and twisted souls trying to escape the Snake Sannin, the samurai guarding the Kage, his friends and family—people he killed because of stupid decisions—

"Sasuke?"

He hears a whisper in the distance, but the roaring in his ears, the cacophony of accusing voices in his head, almost drowns it out. He's barely aware of something moving in his periphery, and it's his first instinct to take out the possible threat.

The wide-eyed woman in front of him barely ducks his wild swing. If he had a kunai in his hand, her face would now be a mess of blood.

"S-Sa..kura…" he says, hating that her name comes out as more of a stutter than a question. He tries to convey his apology—he didn't mean to, he would never!—but that's the problem, isn't it? He's always hurting her, even when he doesn't want to.

"Sasuke," Sakura says, her tone gentle and conversational, "can you take my hand?"

She says it as if it's nothing, as if she's asking him if it's raining outside. The voice of a doctor looking at a patient, trying to figure out what's wrong. Trying to treat the problem, making him better. That should bother him. He hates it when she coddles him and always has, but right now, summoning up that indignation is too much effort.

"I can't," he chokes out, gritting his teeth because he sounds so weak right now. "I c-can't stop—"

"I didn't ask you to stop," she tells him gently, a comforting smile on her face. "I just want to hold your hand." She reaches out, fingers close enough for him to grasp but not too far inside his personal space. "Sasuke, can you take my hand?"

He considers, one moment parsing the decision, one moment not thinking about—

Itachi's blood-soaked smile flashes across his retinas again and Sasuke's fingers recoil.

"I know you can do it," Sakura continues as his panic rises once more. "It's right there in front of you."

She wiggles her fingers invitingly.

Sasuke forces himself to focus, wills his brain and reflexes to kick in again, and before he can talk himself out of it, he clutches her fingers in his own.

Sakura grips him back firmly, adjusting the way their hands fit together so that the hold is more secure. She has to put effort into the action because his entire frame is shaking so violently, he might throw her off if she doesn't.

He concentrates his attention on the texture of her palm against his own—rough and calloused. Despite being the hands of a healer, they've held weapons and mixed poisons, been torn and burned and broken, healed and hardened with chakra.

Warrior's hands. A warrior like him.

But his hands are stained with much more blood.

He gives a forceful jerk, trying to retreat, but her hold on him doesn't waver.

"Shhh. Sasuke, I know you're scared right now, but you're safe with me."

Scared? He doesn't get scared. He's not allowed to be scared, not after everything.

His attention wavers as Sakura rubs circles across the joint of his thumb. She reaches deliberately up his arm beneath the loose sleeve of his shirt, pressing as much of their skin together as possible. Slowly, she trails her palm down the length of his arm, back and forth, keeping constant contact with him.

"Good. Now, can I ask you to do something, Sasuke? For me?"

He forces himself to focus.

"I'm going to breathe, and I'd like you to copy me, okay? I know you can—you can imitate anything, right?"

He quakes with another tremor. "I can't sto—"

"You don't have to stop. Just copy me, okay? That's all I'm asking. Do what I'm doing."

He wants to. Above all else, he wants to—he owes her so much, and he will do anything to make it up to her, even something so small—but he can't get any air into his lungs. He tastes blood, imagines again that this is how Itachi must have felt—

"Okay. It's okay, you're doing fine, Sasuke," she tells him calmly. "Do you maybe want to go outside? We can go outside if you want."

He can't respond in words, but simply wraps his fingers more tightly around her wrist and squeezes an affirmative. Without having to confirm with him, she helps him to his feet and all but carries him out the door.

Whenever this has happened before, the idea of anyone touching him has made him violently sick; he'd be tempted to lash out with fist or whatever weapon was closest. But Sakura…he trusts her; out of anyone in the world, he can trust her.

The girl he left behind. The girl who couldn't kill him. The woman who waited.

Who he made wait.

The remorse swirls up inside him again, threatening to drown him, but Sakura doesn't leave his side. She murmurs softly in his ear, mostly nonsensical repetitions of "It's okay. You'll be okay."

Then they are outside and the cool night air hits his sweat-soaked skin. Still, there is no real relief there, and he is still drowning in the taste of blood.

She doesn't leave him, instead holding him when his knees buckle, gently lowering him to the ground.

"See? There we go. Can you breathe now?"

Breathing. Should be easy. Automatic system. He can do this.

Sakura inhales deeply and loudly through her nose, and then lets her breath out just as slowly. Sasuke gulps a deep, painful lungful of air, almost choking in the process, but it holds. He sputters as he exhales, but Sakura squeezes his hand in encouragement. She repeats the action again, waiting for his breaths to echo her own.

"All right. You're doing great," she says once he finally settles into a somewhat repetitive rhythm. "Now, look around. Can you tell me five things you see?"

It's infantile and, under normal circumstances, he would resent this, but right now, the task seems incredibly difficult. Slowly, he does so, squinting at the forest surrounding them with the same focus he uses to detect enemy ninja.

"Tree," he says through gritted teeth. "Rock. Traps. Cabin. Fire pit."

"Okay, that's great. Now—name four things you can hear, all right? Try to be more detailed this time."

That's harder.

He needs to listen more carefully, parse the individual sounds that fill the night.

It proceeds like this several times, her asking him something more after each of his answers. She wants him to explain the smells he can pick up in the air, describe the texture of the ground beneath his bare feet—all the while reminding him to copy her slow rhythm of inhaling and exhaling.

After what might as well be an eternity, Sasuke's body stills and so does hers.

"Are you feeling better?" she asks, tentative.

He nods once. Even though he is far from okay, at least now, he can breathe.

"Do you want me to stop touching you?" she asks, and he shakes his head _no_. "Okay." They sit in silence together for several more beats, just listening to one another breathe. Then she speaks again. "I guess that was a terrible dream you had. Or memory."

She makes it sound like she's merely wondering, not directly asking him. He can ignore it if he wants to, and while he appreciates the gesture, he's made a silent promise to himself not to ignore Sakura ever again.

"…Both."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shakes his head. No. Of course not.

"Alright. But if you do, I'm here. I will always be here," she reminds him.

"I know."

He's always known, even when he was too stupid to acknowledge it.

They sit in silence for a spell. Sasuke stares up at the sky—starless, tonight, no more than a blanket of black surrounding the moon—and listens to the rustle of the wind. In the distance, a brook babbles and crickets chirp.

"I'm sorry," Sakura says.

The words, more than their suddenness, surprise him.

He peers over at her, trying to understand the context behind her words. "About what?"

"I didn't realise you had panic attacks, and I…I should have. Considering, well, _everything_."

He shrugs. "They happen. I deal with it."

This doesn't mollify her.

"Alone."

"Yes."

Another long silence.

"I used to get them," Sakura tells him. Sasuke can't hide the surprise when he meets her gaze. "Years ago."

That does make sense then.

After the war, even the most well-adjusted individual must have experienced post-traumatic stress. Just the nature of fighting off the resurrected corpses of loved ones would've caused lasting mental wounds.

It just seems odd to think of Sakura being one of those people dealing with inner demons; she is so warm and bright and hopeful. It makes him nauseous to think exactly what could cause her to have panic attacks.

Mostly because he suspects that he is that cause.

Which is why her next words surprise him.

"The first time was after we rescued Gaara. After that fight with Sasori."

He's heard about that fight, but never from her. Bits and pieces from Naruto and Kakashi, and embellished versions of the story from locals whenever Sasuke passed through Suna. She's a legend there. And yet, even though Sakura was the first of them to defeat a member of Akatsuki, she never talks about it.

Then again, Sakura has never been the type of shinobi to boast about her victories.

It appears it's more than that.

She physically shudders beside him, and he reflexively puts his arm around her shoulder.

"I dreamed about it for months," she tells him. "Of not being in control of my body, of being made into one of those _things_. Or that he didn't kill me. He kept me locked up and butchered you…and everyone else right in front of me before he…" She swallows. "On the _good_ nights, I'd wake up and I couldn't move."

"Sleep paralysis," he realises. He experienced that himself after his family's murder.

She nods, leaning into him. "It was…hard to deal with. Lady Tsunade helped a lot."

"What about…" he begins, and then swallows to make sure his voice doesn't sound so feeble. "What about after?"

"After?"

"Kaguya. After I…"

The genjutsu he cast on her that day, right after they defeated the demon goddess, was one of his strongest. He doesn't have Itachi's _Tsukuyomi_ , but with the Rinnegan, Sasuke's genjutsu capabilities come a close second.

The illusion he trapped her in should've kept her catatonic until he released it. Escaping it could not have been easy on her.

Sakura considers and then exhales. "Do you want me to lie to you? Say I was fine?"

His mouth goes dry. "No."

"Good. Because I wasn't," she tells him, and that nauseous sensation is back. "It was horrible. Worse than after Sasori. I was afraid to sleep because I thought my heart was going to stop every time I closed my eyes. Those first few weeks…a part of me was glad you were locked up, because it meant I was…"

"Safe," he supplies weakly.

He feels her nod and his stomach clenches. He always suspected that Sakura wasn't as forgiving of him as she always seemed, but this confirmation feels like a physical blow.

"What changed?" he asks. How did she go from being terrified by the thought of his freedom, to offering to travel with him? To writing him letters, waiting for him to return, and travelling by his side?

Why would she agree to become his wife?

"I realised something," she confesses.

"What was that?"

"You were protecting me."

That brings him up short because he can barely remember his thought process that day, he was so far gone. "I don't…"

"Kakashi-sensei told me what you said afterward. And you were right. If I had been awake, I would've tried to stop you and Naruto. I would've gotten in the way, and one of us—maybe even all of us—would've ended up dead. Aside from the fact that it would've really, really sucked if that happened, there would've been no one to undo the _Infinite Tsukuyomi_ and _everyone_ would be dead. So. I wasn't happy about it—I'm still not happy about it—but I stopped seeing it as something you did _to_ me, and something you did _for_ me. Just because I don't like something, doesn't mean that it wasn't the right decision." She sighs and stares up at the sky, a sad smile on her face. "Life is too short to fill it with regrets, Sasuke. Don't you think?"

Sasuke stares at the woman beside him, this strong, mystifying, possibly insane woman, and is once more struck by a crippling disbelief that she is here with him. Out of everyone in the world that she could have, despite his many sins, she has chosen him. He can't help but think that despite the horrible things he has done in this life and all the others before it, somewhere, somehow, he must've done something to merit this.

Or he is meant to spend the rest of his life proving that he does. It's a burden he'll gladly bear, all things considered.

"Yes," he finally manages to say. "I do."

She beams at him. "I'm glad."

She squeezes his hand. "But if you _ever_ do something like that to me again," she tells him firmly, "I will end you."

There is no lie in her words.

"And I would let you," he vows.

"Just so we're clear."

"Hm."

She yawns now and presses farther into his chest. "Do you want to go back inside yet?"

"Not yet."

"Can I stay out here with you?" she asks, and instantly, he's transported to all those times she asked to be with him, and all the times he refused her.

That's one regret he can make up for right now.

"Yes."

終わり

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 _Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome! I'm only able to keep writing as I do thanks to the encouragement of readers like you, so every bit of support helps! And be sure to check out my tumblr (Typewriter Ninjutsu) for content you won't necessarily find on this site._

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